


Woman on Fire

by orphan_account



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, F/M, JemmaLance brotp, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 12:56:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6330100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jemma Simmons finally got up the courage to ask Fitz to dinner in hopes of having that talk. After months of hardship, things finally start to be looking up: until Fitz gets swallowed up by the Monolith.</p><p>Jemma will stop at nothing to find him. With Lance Hunter as her right hand man, she'll tear apart the world to find him. And when she does, she's not letting go. </p><p>Expanded from a ficlet originally posted on my tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Woman on Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ughfitz (wokemeup)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wokemeup/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY RACQUEL (AKA UGHFITZ)! 
> 
> You are an absolute gift to this fandom and a lovely, fantastic person. I'm so glad to have gotten to know you in our crazy FS corner of the Tumblr verse.

**Day One:**

 

Fitz stands beside her, reading the tablet over her shoulder and humming with interest.

 

“The readings don’t look particularly unusual, is the thing,” he muses aloud. “Even when it’s liquefied, there’s no spikes in heat signature, in energy…just nothing. Maybe I need to rearrange the sensors…”

 

This is the part where she contributes. Rationally, she knows that. But for some reason she can’t focus on anything other than how warm he is, standing that close to her, and the familiar smell of him is like a balm for her shaken nerves after the events of the last several days.

 

“Jemma?” he asks, brow furrowed. “Am I missing something?”

 

“Dinner,” she breathes. It’s not what she meant to say.

 

“I—I don’t think we’re missing dinner, I’m pretty sure that’s not for a few more hours.”

 

She huffs out a frustrated breath through her nose. A year ago, he would have just _known_ what she meant but now she has to actually _say_ it, and that’s not exactly her strong suit.

 

“I meant…dinner. I think we should go to dinner, just the two of us. I know the locker room wasn’t the time or place to…to talk about what you said, but I really do want to. Talk about it,” she manages to get out. She’s taking so fast that she’s sure he couldn’t have possibly understood her, but then his jaw slackens completely and his eyes widen ever so slightly.

 

“Oh.”

 

His lips quirk upward just enough to tell her that this one syllable, this one half-sound, is affirmation. They may not be quite where they were, but they’re getting there. Regardless, she can’t resist confirming his intent.

 

“So…yes?”

 

“Oh. Right. Yeah,” he stammers. “That—that’d be good. We should…do that. Talking.”

 

“We should,” Jemma agrees. She nods resolutely and shoves the tablet into his chest. “Let me know when you’ve fiddled with the sensors? I’ll go come up with some places to run by you. For the eating and the talking.”

 

He nods, watching her skitter out of the room with a slight skip in her step that leaves him biting down a grin. He tosses the tablet to the side, eager to figure out why they can’t seem to pick up _anything_ about this rock. The sooner he figures it out, the sooner he can go ask Hunter and Mack to help him pick out a suitable outfit for what he’s pretty sure is a date with _Jemma Simmons_.

 

He reaches up to the case holding the Monolith in containment, surprised to find that his left hand isn’t even shaking with nerves at the prospect of having dinner, alone, with Jemma—and talking about what happened that day at the bottom of the ocean.

 

She’d said that maybe they had something to discuss after all, and despite his initial trepidations when she’d said so, he now feels ready. Whatever it is that Jemma has to say, he wants to hear her out, no interruptions.

 

That’s the last thing he thinks before the case opens. He only has time to let out a loud shout before the Monolith pulls him in, solidifying once again.

 

Three hours later, when Jemma enters the room to find the containment unit open and no Fitz to be found, the entire team comes running at the sound of her panicked screams.

 

**Day 150**

 

Jemma flinches under the harsh grip on her arm. She glances over at Hunter, who squares his shoulders despite the blood dripping from his mouth. She watches as he spits it out onto the ground. The man holding onto Jemma presses his knife closer to her ribs and she hisses. 

 

“This man, that you’ve gone through all this trouble for,” the leader says mockingly from across the room. “Do you love him?” 

 

Hunter turns his head to stare at her but Jemma forces herself to stare their opponent in the eyes. “Yes.” 

 

“Only love could make a person so stupid,” the man laughs. Jemma lunges forward, the knife to her side slicing against her. 

 

“GO!” Hunter shouts. Jemma crushes the small tablets underneath her fingernails, emitting a sudden cloud of darkness. She hears the men around them scream as the poison fills the air. Hunter and Jemma seal their lips as tightly as they can, holding their breath to prevent the gas from knocking them out.

 

She’s pleased to find that her night vision contact lenses are effective. She and Hunter can both see through the madness and their eyes remain protected from the poisonous cloud overwhelming the room. Jemma springs forward and grabs the scroll, running after Hunter as the lookout men begin shooting at them. 

 

“GET IN THE CAR!” he screams at her. 

 

She yanks open the door and covers her head the best that she can. “Don’t have to tell me twice!” 

 

Hunter peels out of the narrow alleyway, handing her a gun from the glove compartment. 

 

“We’re being followed, and I’ve got to focus on driving.” 

 

Taking a deep breath, Jemma nods and grasps the pistol with shaking hands. This isn’t an ICER. These bullets are lethal. She raises the weapon the way Hunter had taught her and fires several bullets out of the back window. It shatters, and the man on the motorcycle pursuing them flies off of his bike, clutching his shoulder. 

 

“Good shot,” Hunter praises. “The car is falling back.” 

 

Jemma smiles tremulously, gripping the gun so hard her knuckles turn white. In her other hand, she loosens her grip on  “We got it.” 

 

“Here’s hoping that has the information we need,” Hunter sighs, leaning back in the seat as they live the city behind them. A long beat of silence fills the car. “It’s been five months, Simmons.” 

 

“I know that,” she replies tersely as she unwinds the headscarf from around hair. “I know exactly how long it’s been, Hunter.” 

 

“I’m not saying you don’t,” Hunter says, raising one hand to pat her awkwardly on the shoulder. “I’m just saying that our odds are getting slimmer. Bobbi can’t hold down the Science division alone, and Coulson is pissed.” 

 

“And you want to run off after Ward,” Jemma snaps. He moves his hand back to the steering wheel. 

 

“Of course I want to go after him,” Hunter argues. “Until we know for sure that Fitz is gone–” 

 

“He’s not dead,” Jemma interrupts. “I would know. I would feel it.” 

 

Hunter bites his lip, staring intently on the dirt road ahead. “Fair enough. I know that feeling. Trust your gut, Simmons.” 

 

“Is this is it?” Jemma asks candidly. “If this is another dead end, are you done helping me?” 

 

“No,” Hunter answers immediately. “No. We’ll keep going. Whatever it takes.” 

 

“Thank you, Hunter,” Jemma sighs in relief. “I mean it. I know that you want to go after Ward.” 

 

“I’ll tell you what,” Hunter grins. “Once we find Fitz, you help me hunt that bastard down.” 

 

“Well–” 

 

“Once Fitz is all safe and sound of course,” Hunter finishes. “He can come too. It’ll be fun.” 

 

Jemma barks out a laugh. “Fun?” 

 

“Or something.” 

 

“Or something indeed,” she chuckles. “Alright, you’ve got yourself a deal.” 

 

He nods and they resume the drive to the airfield in silence. When they reach the quinjet that they’ve taken (unauthorized, of course), Jemma turns to grab his wrist, turning him around. He’s wearing a suit, looking completely unlike himself if it weren’t for the dark red blood on his face and shirt. 

 

“Thank you,” Jemma breathes. “Hunter, thank you so much. For everything.” 

 

“Of course, Simmons. I’ve got your six.” 

 

Jemma smiles and follows him onto the plane. 

 

“Did you mean it?” he asks as they cut through the clouds. “That you love Fitz?” 

 

She blinks back tears, avoiding his gaze to stare out of the window beside her. “Yes. I just have to–I have to hope it’s not too late.” 

 

“Take it from me,” Hunter assures her, patting her knee. “It’s not too late. And we’re gonna get him.” 

 

As soon as they arrive back at the base, Jemma takes off for the lab with the scroll tucked beneath her arm. She snaps on a pair of gloves with a racing heart, laying it out on the lab counter and clicking on as many overhead lights as possible. She unrolls it and lets out a small grunt of frustration when she finds it to be completely unreadable, caked in dirt and grime.

 

She hesitates for a moment, eying Fitz’s desk across the room. Jemma knows exactly what tools she needs and where to find them in his drawers, but she’s been adamant that no one, under any circumstances, disturbs his belongings. Fitz has always prided himself on his pristine workspace.

 

“Sorry, Fitz,” she whispers to herself. She tries to do it quietly, now; the pitying looks she receives from lab techs and friends alike have stopped her from talking too loudly to her Inner Fitz. It helps her, to say his name and imagine him here with her, the same way that she wishes his picture goodnight every night.

 

No one dares to comment on the fact that she started sleeping in his bed two months ago instead of her own. It had been after a particularly heartbreaking setback—she’d been convinced, so sure, that the answer to where Fitz had been taken lay with a secret organization in Bangkok.

 

She had been wrong and Hunter had nearly paid with his life trying to protect her.

 

Shaking herself, she strides to his desk and opens his drawer, grabbing the small leather pouch that contains his small, detailed hand tools. She’d purchased the set for him for their fifth Friend-a-versary. It stings her hands to open it.

 

She snaps the button and unrolls it, revealing the tools. She ponders over them for a long moment before her hands finally settle on the one that she needs. Taking a deep breath, Jemma hunches over the scroll and begins painstakingly scratching away at the thick layer of age that hides the answer she’s spent months looking for.

 

Wherever he is, she’s going to find him. She can only hope that he hasn’t lost faith in her yet.

 

_“You gave up on me!”_

 

She pauses in her work to slam the tool down in frustration, momentarily allowing her precariously bubbling emotions and memories to surface. She had once made him believe that she thought he was useless, that she gave up on them…and now, almost six months since he was swallowed by a rock, she can’t let herself imagine that he thinks that again.

 

“Everyone’s always said that we’re psychically linked, Fitz,” she whispers as she picks up the scalpel-like tool once more. “I really hope they’re right.”

 

She swallows hard and squares her shoulders.

 

“I _know_ you won’t give up. So I won’t either,” she says. She resumes her work and doesn’t bother looking up when Coulson enters. He hasn’t exactly been pleased with her, in the months since Fitz was swallowed up by that goddamned rock.

 

“Simmons,” Coulson says sternly. “You think I don’t know when my agents are lying to me?”

 

“Sir, please,” Jemma sighs in exasperation. “This is it. I know it is.”

 

“It’s not that I don’t want to find Fitz,” Coulson argues. “But we cannot put everything on hold for this. I need you _here._ I’ve already lost my left hand and then May left so I left my right one too. Everything has changed and we all have to learn to live with it.”

 

Jemma raises her head to glare at him. “With all due respect, sir, please do not equate May _voluntarily leaving_ to Fitz being _sucked into an alien rock.”_

Coulson shuts his eyes, letting out a heavy breath and nodding. “I’m sorry.”

 

“I know,” Jemma shrugs. She finishes up scraping away the last of the dust. “Like you said, we’re all learning to live with it. But I can’t live with no answers.”

 

She tosses her—rather, Fitz’s—device aside and leans down to blow off the last little bit of dirt. Coulson moves closer to look at the Artifact Du Jour.

 

“What does it say?” he asks. “Looks like Hebrew.”

 

Jemma stares at it, her legs going numb with shock. For the first time she feels the ache of the cut in her side and she stumbles back.

 

“Death,” she whispers. “Just…death.”

 

She locks her hands behind her neck, shameless as the tears fill her eyes. “No. No. No, no, no.”

 

“Jemma,” Coulson says softly, walking toward her slowly and putting his hook on her shoulder. He flinches when he does so, but Jemma doesn’t seem to notice. He switches hands. “Jemma, it’s time to say goodbye, okay?”

 

She feels the panic welling up in her and feels the irrational urge to lunge at Coulson and slap him right across the face. She looks down to find her right hand already curling into a fist.

 

“I’d like to be alone,” she says, voice wavering. He watches her carefully and then nods, leaving her alone in the lab. Hunter appears almost immediately, cleaned up (undoubtedly by Bobbi).

 

Hunter takes one look at her and gathers her into his arms. She lets out a wretched sob and clings to him desperately.

 

“Death,” she chokes out. “Death.”

 

“Shh, sweetheart. It’s alright. We’re going to find him, I promise,” he murmurs, stroking the back of her head. After several minutes, she finally calms to weak sniffles and pulls away from him. “You’ve been awake for a real long time. How about we get you some rest? Bobbi will be hunting you down soon.”

 

Jemma smiles tremulously, brushing at the dampness on her cheeks. “Alright. Yes, that sounds—that sounds good. I think I just need a rest.”

 

She lets Hunter lead her into Fitz’s bunk. He brings her a glass of water and a little bowl of crisps—he knows better than to even try to bring her a full meal. Not for the first time, she wonders where she’d be without her unlikely friend and ally. He makes sure she’s comfortably tucked in Fitz’s sheets and then leaves. She hears him mumbling to Bobbi in the hallway, something about _“I don’t know how much more of this she can take, Bob, but I don’t think she’s going to stop”_ before their footsteps fade too far away for her to hear.

 

As soon as she’s sure the coast is clear, she flings herself out of bed once more and storms down the hallway. Hunter hadn’t been wrong; she can’t take any more of this but she also can’t stop, and there’s only one option left.

 

She stops briefly in the weapons area to grab a handgun and—in typical Jemma Simmons fashion—tugs on a pair of protective ear covers. A handgun is her weapon of choice; she never really got the hang of the shotgun. Every time she fired one while training for their field assessment, it had pushed her back with the force.

 

Fitz had really gotten a kick out of that (at least, until he’d walked away from the shooting range with a black eye from a too-powerful weapon).

 

She reaches the door containing the Monolith, yellow tape indicating DO NOT ENTER in a taunting, and useless, request. She rips the yellow ribbon off and slams her entire body against the door to swing it open. Then she enters the room and faces off with the box. Hands steady, she raises the gun and fires.

 

_Bang._

_Bang._

_Bang._

 

The containment door swings open and she tosses the gun onto the ground, headgear quickly following. She inhales sharply through her nose and walks slowly toward the box. Her mind goes completely blank as she steps inside, closing her eyes in anticipation.

 

If she can’t bring him back, she’ll join him, wherever the hell he is. And if he really is dead, if this kills her—well, then, she’s sure their energy will find one another again. Jemma would never admit it out loud but ever since she was sixteen, she’d secretly held onto the thought that all of the matter making up her bones and muscles and cells had known the matter that made Fitz. In every life. In every death.

 

She waits. And she waits. And she waits.

 

Nothing happens.

 

The tenuous grip on her sanity snaps. Her hands lash out against the rock and she lets out a feral scream.

 

“I WANT HIM BACK!” she screams. “GIVE HIM BACK!”

 

She pounds and slaps at the rock with all of her strength. She vaguely feels the cut in her side reopen, warm blooding soaking onto her shirt, but she continues her assault on her new worst enemy.

 

Six months ago, she’d have told anyone that she could never hate anything or anybody the way she hated Grant Ward. That’s no longer true; all of the space for fury and rage and grief inside of her has been occupied by this unmoving rock.

 

“GIVE HIM BACK!”

 

Her sole focus is the Monolith as she begs and pleads with a breaking, shrieking voice. She doesn’t notice Hunter, Bobbi, Mack, and Daisy, all rushing into the room. Hunter grabs her around the waist and yanks her backward even as she kicks and thrashes against him.

 

“CLOSE IT!” Bobbi shouts at Mack. He forces the containment unit shut just as the rock liquefies.

 

“NO!” Jemma screams, yanking out of Hunter’s arms just as the Monolith becomes solid once again. She deflates as Bobbi kneels beside her slowly, softly reaching out to brush a tear from Jemma’s cheek. “I missed it. I missed it.”

 

“Jemma, you did your best,” Bobbi says softly. “Everyone knows that.”

 

“I can’t,” Jemma whispers defiantly, despite her scraped knuckles and aching body. “I can’t give up. I won’t give up.”

 

Bobbi pulls her hand away from Jemma’s face, brow wrinkled. “Wait. Is this..?”

 

Daisy leans closer to look at Bobbi’s finger. “Sand. Is sand good? What does sand mean?”

 

“Don’t you dare move,” Jemma snaps at Bobbi, scrambling to her feet. “I need a sample collecting kit.”

 

Mack nods resolutely and practically jogs toward the lab.

 

“What do you need from me, sweetheart?” Hunter asks.

 

“Nothing,” Jemma half-laughs. A bright smile starts to spread over her face. “Your work for me might finally be done.”

 

Hunter collapses dramatically onto the floor with a relieved exclamation, causing Bobbi to chuckle in amusement. Jemma shoots her a glare.

 

“Stay completely still! We cannot afford to lose a single grain of that sand.”

 

Bobbi sobers up completely as Mack returns with the testing kit. Within hours, Jemma has enough to present to Coulson. When she finishes her speech, surrounded by the team, there is a long beat of silence.

 

“So you think the Monolith is a portal?” Daisy asks.

 

“Yes,” Jemma confirms confidently. “Well, no. I’m _proving_ it’s a portal. To another planet, a crack in space and time that carried him away. It carried that sand back. Which means…”

 

“He could be dead,” Coulson points out.

 

“Yes!” Jemma shouts. “Which you’ve been telling me for _months_ but what if he isn’t? I _know_ that he isn’t.”

 

Coulson throws his hands up. “We’re gonna find out, aren’t we?”

 

“Damn right,” Mack agrees.

 

“Yep,” Bobbi echoes.

 

“Absolutely,” Daisy chimes in.

 

“Like I said, Simmons, I’ve got your six,” Hunter says, directing his response to Jemma. She spins to look at him, eyes wide.

 

“You could go now, if you wanted,” she tells him quietly.

 

He smirks at her, eyes warm and affectionate. She feels a flood of gratitude for him wash over her. She used to wish for an older brother, in the days she got bullied in school. She’d wanted someone who was a bit of a pain, always nicking her things and giving her a hard time, but someone who would tell the bullies to shove off and protect her and be there for her.

 

Turns out he’d been growing up in London all along.

 

“I’m in this till the end with you,” Hunter says lightly, but the words carry weight. Bobbi moves closer to him, wrapping her hand around his and giving it a squeeze. Coulson looks between his agents, this battered and bruised group still recovering from the hellish battle they’d fought six months ago.

 

“Alright,” Coulson concedes. “What do you need?”

 

“I need more historical data,” she explains, ticking items off on her fingers. “People have been studying this for centuries. I need an expert on quantum mechanics and Einstein-Rosen bridge theory. Ugh, Fitz would know exactly who to find for that. And…well…I suppose a sandwich would be quite nice.”

 

Daisy snorts and hops off of her perch on the desk. “I can’t make a mean sandwich quite like you can, but I think I’ve got an idea on where we can find someone who would know _a lot_ about the history of this damn thing. I can’t believe I just thought of it.”

 

“Who?” Jemma questions eagerly.

 

“Remember that weirdo alien pen collector?”

 

Coulson practically lights up. “Randolph.”

 

“Professor Randolph,” Jemma repeats excitedly. “Forget the sandwich. We need to find him.”

 

Daisy solutes and then wiggles her fingers. “Earthquake powers didn’t knock the super hacker out of these bad boys. Give me a few minutes and we’ll find our guy.”

 

“Who the hell is Randolph?” Hunter asks. “And if we coulda just found this bloke instead of nearly getting killed in Guatemala—“

 

Jemma rolls her eyes and shoves him as she passes. “You had the time of your life in Guatemala, Hunter.”

 

“I did not!” he denies indignantly. “And then _you_ made us stop at that gift shop during a bloody firefight!”

 

“Well at least one of us remembered that Bobbi collects keepsake boxes,” Jemma snaps back. Bobbi steps between them and fondly pushes them apart.

 

“Alright, you two. Don’t make me ground you both.”

 

They make the same annoyed little whine in response. Hunter and Jemma freeze, staring at one another around Bobbi’s back.

 

“We’ve been spending too much time together,” Jemma says weakly.

 

“Yep,” Hunter agrees, popping the “p”.

 

**Day 152**

They’ve made it. Sure, they probably broke several international accords by breaking Randolph out of jail, but they’d succeeded. Unsurprisingly, Hunter does not get along well with the alien professor.

 

“The stems on that blonde,” Randolph says to him conspiratorially.

 

“Watch yourself,” Hunter warns.

 

“I think this is a secret door!” Daisy calls out excitedly. She lays her hands against the wall and quakes it open, bouncing with a little grin. “I’ve always wanted to open a secret door.”

 

“A secret passageway marked death?” Randolph questions, unimpressed. “Who in their right mind would—“

 

Jemma pushes past him, holding her flashlight up and walking straight through the darkened stone cave. Hunter immediately follows, closely trailed by Daisy and Coulson. Bobbi turns to look at Randolph with raised brows.

 

“You’re not coming?” Bobbi asks. “Because if you don’t come willingly, these _stems_ are going to kick your ancient ass.”

 

He shuffles in front of her rather dejectedly and she rolls her eyes. Alien or human, the male species, Bobbi finds, is pretty much all the same.

 

“This is some sort of primitive electronic system,” Jemma marvels as she wanders around the large atrium illuminated by their collective flashlights. “Mack? What do you think?”

 

He studies the equipment with narrowed eyes. “I don’t know, Teaspoon. This crap may be too old to even crank.”

 

“If anyone can do it, it’s you,” Jemma assures him. “Give it your best.”

 

“Yes ma’am,” Mack smiles, grabbing the wheel and forcibly turning it. The entire room shudders for a moment and then a loud whirring noise begins. They all clutch at their ears and Jemma inches her way toward the center of the room, where a large, deep hole is situated.

 

“It looks like a well!” she shouts to Bobbi.

 

“Wait a second!” Bobbi calls back, violently motioning for Mack to stop. He does so immediately and the lights flicker back into darkness. “This is the perfect size for the Monolith.”

 

“It looked like there was something going on in that well,” Hunter suggests. “But I swear to you, if that little girl from The Ring pops out, I’m leaving you all behind.”

 

Jemma ignores him. “It was some sort of pulse or vibration.”

 

Bobbi rolls her eyes and turns to Coulson. “You need to call in Aviation. We need to drop that thing in here.”

 

Coulson looks to Jemma for confirmation, and when she nods resolutely, he sighs. “They’re not going to like this.”

 

***

 

The Monolith lands in the well with a resounding thud. The castle shakes and Mack steels himself to begin cranking again. Jemma bounces on the balls of her feet as Mack begins; the lights flicker to life and the horrible shrieking stops.

 

Well, at least for most of them.

 

Daisy shouts in pain, clutching at her head as blood begins to pour from her nose. Mack calls out for her and Jemma prepares herself for what she’s about to do next. The Monolith turns into a large, bubbling pool of blackness.

 

“It’s going to blow!” Mack warns.

 

Jemma’s eyes widen in a panic and she reaches down to a supply pack. She shoots a flare into the portal and Daisy suddenly appears beside her. To Jemma’s surprise, Daisy raises her hands and begins quaking into the well.

 

“Daisy,” Jemma says, concerned.

 

“Daisy, stop!” Coulson demands.

 

Daisy shakes her head, wiping the blood from her nose on her shoulder. “I can do this. If this can bring…Fitz…back…”

 

She trails off, focusing every bit of her effort into keeping the portal open.

 

“I don’t know how long I can do this!”

 

Jemma looks to the DWARF off to the side, near the cable that will send it through. While everyone is watching Daisy with baited breath, Jemma snatches the clasp off of the cord and attaches it to her belt loops.

 

“Daisy, keep it open as long as you can!”

 

“JEMMA!” Hunter shouts, and it’s the last thing she hears before she leaps into the blackness. She briefly registers a swooping feeling in her gut and fleetingly thinks that perhaps this is what Harry Potter was describing when he talked about the unpleasantness of Portkeys.

 

She lands roughly in the dirt, blinking against the strange blue light and struggling to catch her breath. It seems she’s landed in the center of a sandstorm, or perhaps she _is_ the sandstorm.

 

Either way, she fights against the powerful gusts and charges forward. “FITZ!” she screams. “FITZ!”

 

She keeps calling his name, looking around wildly and holding her hair back away from her face. The sand stings as it whips against her face but she continues pressing on. “FITZ!”

 

Distantly, she hears it.

 

“JEMMA?”

 

“FITZ!” she calls back, practically euphoric with the thrill of hearing his voice again, live and speaking to her, for the first time in six months. The video she’s watched a thousand times has nothing on the sound.

 

“JEMMA!”

 

“I’m coming, Fitz!” she shouts. She sees him, then, making his way over the ridge up ahead. The sleeves of his shirt are ripped off, practically a vest now over his undershirt. It looks like he tied one of the sleeves around his neck—for what, she’s not sure—and the other is wrapped around his leg.

 

He must be injured, somehow, and it surges her forward even as she nearly loses her footing. The wind speed increases, sending her stumbling sideways from the force. Fitz falls to his knees and her heart stops. She finally gets close enough to reach out and grab his hand as he attempts to stumble to his feet. Her fingers grapple against his, desperate to hold onto him with everything she has. Then she falls, smacking her face against the hard ground as their hands separate.

 

“NO!” she shouts.

 

She hears him growl, even over the howling of the sandstorm, and he begins clawing toward her desperately. She looks up desperately, meeting his eyes for the first time in far too long.

 

This is the longest they’ve ever been separated and she won’t let it go on for a single second longer. A sudden push of strength propels her forward and she manages to grab onto him just in time—as soon as she gets a good grip, the wire yanks them backward, hard.

 

They tumble back through the portal, but as soon as they land, they are shrouded in smoke and dust, the Monolith exploding loudly around them. Even in his apparently weakened state, Fitz throws his body over hers at the sound, attempting to shield her from the rubble.

 

She coughs loudly, as does he, and she slowly pushes him off of her to look up at their team crowded around the well.

 

“Jemma, you absolute beauty!” Hunter cheers. He pumps a fist and does a little spin. “As soon as we get back, a round of drinks on me! For everyone!”

 

Jemma isn’t paying any attention. She stares down at Fitz, who gazes at her with absolute wonder in his eyes. She tightens her grip around his shoulders and stares at him, unsure what to say or do, what to examine first.

 

“Jemma,” he whispers, voice cracking on her name. A small smile spreads over his lips and he sighs, eyes fluttering shut in relief. “Jemma.”

 

“Hi, Fitz,” she replies, voice tightening with the joyous tears building up inside of her.

 

Even though the entire team is watching, even though he hasn’t showered in six months, even though they’re both covered in bits of rock and portal, she uses her free hand to brush against his cheek, lowering her lips until they meet his.

 

He inhales sharply through his nose and she waits, counting down from five before she decides she’ll pull away.

 

On four, he weakly presses back, one hand clenching around her blouse. Bobbi catcalls them, Daisy laughing despite her exhaustion as she leans against Mack.

 

When Jemma pulls away, she looks carefully at his face. His eyes open slowly and he nuzzles into her shoulder tiredly.

 

“I swear I’ll be better at that,” he promises, “when I haven’t spent six months in another universe.”

 

Jemma barks out a surprised laugh. “Hush, Fitz. You’re perfect.”

 

“Sorry I’m late for our date,” he continues.

 

“Fashionably late,” Jemma corrects with a teasing smile. “Everyone knows you’re supposed to leave them waiting for six months.”

 

“You found me,” he mumbles. “You actually…you found me.”

 

“What else was I going to do?” she asks softly.

 

She looks down to find tears springing in his eyes and she calls back up to the team.

 

“Can you get us out of here, please?”

 

“Alright, bossy,” Hunter jokes.

 

Bobbi leans over the well, beaming down at them. “We’ll have you better in no time, Fitz! I’ve got all the med equipment we should need—“

 

“Bobbi? Med?” Fitz asks, confused and dazed.

 

“I’ve been a bit busy,” Jemma shrugs. Then she holds him closer, desperate to cling to every part of him, never wanting him to slip out of her grip again.

 

Bobbi gives him a mild sedative when they get back to Zephyr one, laying him down on a cot in one of the containment units. Jemma sits by his side, leg bouncing anxiously as she waits for his eyes to open once more. After hours of this, she gives up and moves to lean against the wall.

 

It’s been days since she’s slept more than a few hours. She slips into unconsciousness easily, Fitz’s steady breathing lulling her to sleep.

 

***

 

An hour or so later, Fitz awakes with a startled gasp, striking out in front of him with a sharpened rock clenched in his fist. He pants, struggling to get a good breath in as his eyes scan the room in a panic.

 

Then he spots Jemma, sitting beside him. He licks his dry lips and slowly lets go of the rock, moving to settle himself closer to her. After a moment of hesitation, he lowers his head onto her lap, fingers curling around her thigh, just above her knee.

 

She’s changed into new clothes, just as he has, and she smells like the apricot bodywash he loves so much.

 

When he wakes next, it’s to her hands carding through his now-wild curls. His hand clenches anxiously for his weapon but after just a few seconds, it relaxes again, as does he.

 

“Good morning, Fitz,” she whispers. “How are you?”

 

He doesn’t know how to answer that. He knows he’s not good. He’s not even okay, really. But he gets the feeling that maybe he will be, now, so instead of answering at all, he just rolls over to stare up at her.

 

Whatever she sees in his eyes is enough for her. She cranes her neck, contorting her body to kiss him softly, rubbing her nose against his affectionately as she pulls away.

 

“I’ll always find you,” she murmurs. “No matter what.”

 

He nods awkwardly, stuck in her lap, and tries to tell her the same, wants to explain that if she’d been the one trapped on another planet he’d have stopped at nothing to find her. Her hand on his cheek, rubbing soft circles with her thumb, tells him that she understands.


End file.
